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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 


PRESENTED  BY 

PROF.  CHARLES  A.  KOFOID  AND 

MRS.  PRUDENCE  W.  KOFOID 


GAYLAMOUNT 

PAMPHLET  BINDER 


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"YANKEES  ALL" 


"PLEASE    EXCUS-A  ME' 

AND 

OTHER  VERSE 

BY 

DAMACAULIE 


ALTTHOR  OF 

'Why  I  Hate  You,  Kaiser  Bill* 


COPYRIGHT 

By  D.  A.^lac^ullay 

1919 
ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED 


Noveitv  Adyertising  Co.,  Seattle 


Gift  of  C.  A.  Kofoid 


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IXTRODUCTIOX 


To  THE  Public. — 

The  surprising  siiceces  of  my  tlrsr  aUcmpt  as  a  "Vrriter 
of  Books"  lias  given  m^^  courage  to  make  another  effort, 
and,  be  it  good  or  be  it  bad.  if  it  oorns  tbe  ey^s  of  liouie, 
brings  the  happy  smile  to  others,  or  arouses  a  little  more 
interest  in  the  brotherhood  of  man  I  will  consider  it  a 
success. 

The  dominant  idea  that  I  wish  to  convey  is  the  fact 
that  no  one  was  ever  asked,  be  fori;  he  eam\  what  country 
he  wanted  to  be  born  in,  and  accident  of  birth  should  never 
make  us  point  the  finger  of  scorn  at  any  one. 

I  noticed  that  when  the  boys  came  bark,  that  the  troops 
that  marched  through  Tacoma  were  made  up  of  all  nation- 
alities and  colors,  all  Yankees,  and  all  proud  of  it. 

In  my  first  book,  "Why  I  Hate  You,  Kaiser  Bill,"  I  had 
one  piece  that  fits  this  one  so  well  that  I  am  repeating  it 
here,  and,  while  on  the  subject  of  my  first  book  I  want  to 
say  that  if  it  were  not  for  the  kindness  of  Harry  Hall,  my 
superintendent  at  the  shipyard,  A.  M.  Bendetson  of  Aber- 
deen, Frank  May,  at  the  Cass  Cigar  Store,  Aberdeen,  and 

MacKKee,  with  the  Matteson  Jewelry  Co.,  I  would  not 

have  been  able  to  print  my  book  (you  see  I  have  been  too 


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busy  all  my  life  to  make  money),  and  I  now  take  the  oppor- 
tunity to  express  my  thanks  and  gratitude. 

For  the  publishing  of  this  volume  I  have  to  thank  Mr. 
Will  H.  Smith,  the  Seattle  cartoonist,  and  my  sister,  wife 
of  Q.M.  Sergeant  Leonard  Badella,  at  Camp  Lewis.  You 
see  I  am  like  one  of  the  characters  in  one  of  my  jingles: 
"If  you  count  success  by  doing  things,  Tim,  I've  succeeded 
well, 
I   you  count   success   by   dollars.   I'm   a  failure,   sure   as 

H — ir 

The  poem,  "Please  Excuse-a  Me,"  is  a  true  story  of  the 
war,  told  by  a  captain  who  had  been  wounded  and  saved 
as  described. 

The  conversation  with  the  colored  soldier  occurred  at 
Camp  Lewis,  the  colored  boy  had  been  wounded  seven  times 
and  had  received  a  medal  from  three  nations  for  bravery 
in  action. 

Again  thanking  the  public  for  the  generous  applause  of 
my  first  effort,  I  remain,  till  we  meet  again. 
Very  truly  yours, 

Damacauije, 


YANKEES  ALL 


THE  IRISH 

There's  a  warm  spot  in  my  heart  for  dear  old  Ireland. 
I  would  like  to  see  her  free  from  England's  thrall; 

I  would  like  to  see  her  be, 

A  land  of  liberty— 
But  Yankee  land  I  love  the  best  of  all, 

THE  HIGHLANDER 

I  dearly  lo'e  auld  Scotia's  hills. 

It's  bonnie  purple  heather, 
Where  Miles  I  roamed  in  childhood's  days, 

In  stormy  and  fine  weather. 
Now  muckle  chances  hae  I  had, 

To  find  a  land  to  please  me. 

And  from  auld  Britain's  wjiys  and  laws, 

My  oath  it  did  release  me. 
I  bound  myself  to  Uncle  Sam, 

Wiih  oath,  for  I  respect  him, 
And  now  I'll  gladly  fight  and  fa' 
In  elTorts  to  protect  hini. 


B' 


THE    LATIN-AMERICAN 

Whenever    soildier-boy   you    want, 

You  call  on  us  you  find  him; 
And  every  one  you  send  to  war. 

The  bunch  is  right  behind  him, 
AVe  fight  for  our  own  Uncle  Sam, 

To  help  hira  we  are  willing, 
If  some  one  try  to  kill  him  off, 

They  find  us  at  the  killing. 


THE  GERMAN 

I   left  dot  lant  and   came  to   dis. 

To  make  a  bedder  liffing, 
Und  now  I  do  the  best  I  can, 

Vv'hen  efCery  one  iss  gifling, 
1  go  und  help  dot  soldier  boys 

To  fight  for  Yankee  Eagle, 
I  like  dot  dumpkoof  Kaiser  not — 

My  name  iss  Heinrich  Spcigle. 

THE   NATIVE    BORN 

AVe  are  sons  of  Uncle  Sam, 

And  we  do  not  care  a  damn, 
We  can  run  and  dance  and  fight 

And  shoot  and  ride. 
AVc  are  willing  for  the  fray, 

Bo  it  fight  or  work  or  play. 
You  will  find  us  in  the  conflict 

Side  by  side. 


a 


We  Nvill  give  a  helping  hand, 

To  distress  in  any  land, 
All  we  want  is  one  square  deal — 

From  man  and  God. 
Let  some  autocratic  pup 
Undertake  to  stir  us  up — 
He  will  find  some  fighting  devils 
on  the  prod. 

ALL    TOGf:THER 

Uncle  gaze  on  us  and  smile, 

"We  are  with  you  all  the  while. 
No  matter  what  our  color — 

Race  or  birth  : 
We  will  crush  the  traitor  here. 

Other  nations  far  and  near. 
Will  respect  us  in  all  corners— 

Of  the  earth. 

Do  you  want  some  one  to  work  ? 

We  our  duty  do  not  shirk, 
We  produce  the  thing's  you  need- 

From  year  to  year. 
Do  you  want  an  army  grand. 

In  this  or  foreign  land  ? 
If  you  want  us,  sound  your  bugle. 

Vv'e'll  be  here. 


33- 


THE  REASON  I  DID  IT 


The  bothering  thought  to  my  mind  comes  stealing. 

As  I  sit  alone  at  the  close  of  the  day, 
It  comes  in  rhyme,  so  in  rhyme  I  write  it. 

And  plain  and  clear  it  seems  to  say: 
"Why  take  such  pride  in  the  work  you're  doing? 

Why  have  such  pride  for  the  things  you've  done? 
Why  say,  'Look  there,  it  was  I  that  did  it'? 

And  look  at  the  thing  7  have  just  begun." 

"Don't  you  know,  hy  yourself  you  could  not  accomplish 

A  single  thing  that  you  try  to  dof 
Don't  you  know,  that  the  world  has  been  working  for  ages. 

To  produce  an  incompetent  thing  like  you?" 
You  are  using  the  thoughts  of  bygone  ages; 

As  well  as  the  thoughts  of  the  folks  today; 
For  all  that  you  meet  are  fools  and  sages, 

"The  same  as  yourself,  in  a  dijjerent  ivay." 

"You  attune  your  mind  by  careful  study, 

You  seldom  think,  when  you  think  you  do; 
That  thought  was  in  space  for  countless  ages, 

Your  mind  was  attuned,  and  it  came  to  you." 
The  Creator  gave  you  a  mind  and  body, 

A  will  to  do  and  a  soul  to  dare; 
A  world  of  people  around  to  teach  you, 

And  Nature's  garden  of  flowers  fair." 


-a 


He  gave  you  a  heart  to  beat  in  sorrow. 

For  a  neighbor's  grief;   or  to  beat  for  joy 
With  the  mother's  smile,  or  the  children's  laughter; 

And  a  conscience  that  wrong  will  ever  annoy.' 
"You  ask  who  I  am?    Well  then  I'll  tell  you; 

I'm  the  talent  he  gave  you  to  use  through  life. 
Now  I'm  impatient — I've  been  neglected, 

"WTiile  you  were  mixed  in  the  world's  mad  strife.' 

'•Your  heart  and  mind  are  full  of  sorrow 

For  the  world-wide  grief  and  humanity's  pain; 
Then  take  up  your  pen  and  write,  man,  write  it. 

Don't  sit  and  weep  for  the  raped  and  slain." 
1  will  give  you  loords,  but  you'll  have  to  use  them, 

When  I  give  you  a  thought  do  not  lay  it  aside, 
But  write  it,  get  busy,  and  teach  it  and  preach  it. 

And  scatter  it  out  o'er  the  world  so  wide." 

So  blame  me  not  for  the  things  I'm  writing, 
Nor  praise  too  much  if  the  thoughts  are  good. 

Just  thank  the  power  that  gave  the  talent, 
And  know  I  did  it  the  best  I  could. 


DO  IT  NOW 


Would  you  buy  some  sweet  flowers  to  lay  ou  my  coffin? 

Then,  instead,  take  the  money  that  for  them  you'd  pay 
And  give  to  the  poor  suffering  people  around  here, 

'Twould  please  me  far  better  than  any  bouquet. 

Would  you  say  some  kind  word  for  the  one  that's  departed? 

And  praises  of  virtue  heap  on  my  poor  head, 
Then  give  me  my  full  mead  of  praise  while  I'm  living 

I  don't  care  a  damn  what  you  do  when  I'm  dead. 


Raise  no  bright  marble  shaft  to  show  folks  where  I'm  lying 
In  some  quiet  nook  place  me  under  the  sod, 

And  there  I  will  lie  in  my  grave  well  contented, 
My  body  with  nature,  my  soul  with  it's  God. 

Do  not  pray  for  my  soul.  I  have  lived  as  I  listed, 

I  knew  right  from  v.roiia:,  and  I  went  my  own  way. 

You  can't  change  one  line  of  God's  laAv  of  transgression, 
No  matter  how  much  or  how  little  you  pray. 


m 


0 


PLEASE  EXCUS-A  ME 


■m 


While  but  a  lad,  and  walkiixg  out. 

I  met  a  newsboy  there. 
He'd  smiling  eyes  and  swarthy  skin 

And  black  and  curly  hair. 
I  said,  "You  Wop,  a  paper  quick." 

"I  not  a  Wop,"  said  he, 
••I  Yankee  boy,  the  same  as  you, 

So  please  txcuse  a  mo." 

I  bought  his  papers  every  day 

Till  I  a  man  became. 
And  Joe,  from  chubby  newsboy  grew 

To  manhood's  rugged  frame. 
One  day  I  saw  Joe  standing  straight, 

A  cop  was  by  his  side, 
A  mob  around  them  on  the  street, 

I  joined  its  surging  tide. 

Then  asked  the  cop,  "What  made   you  fight? 

That's  what  I  want  to  know." 
"That  fella  call-a  me  Wop," 

Said  smiling  newsboy  Joe. 
"Nobody  ask  me  when  I'm  born, 

On  which  side  of  the  sea; 
So  I  can't  help  it  where  I'm  born, 

So  please  escus-a  me." 


ffi- 


I  told  the  cop,  "Please  let  him  go, 

I  know  he's  square  and  true." 
Joe  said,  "You're  kind,  I  thank  you,  sir. 

Some  day  I  pay-a  you." 
The  country  called,  I  volunteered 

As  Captain  of  some  men, 
And  newsboy  Joe,  a  raw  recruit, 

I  met  him,  now  and  then. 

"Hello!      You,  Joe.     You're  here,"  1   said, 

"I'm  glad  to  see  you  came." 
Then   answered   Joe    (it   made   me   stand 

And  hang  my  head  in  shame), 
"In  Yankee  land  they  brought  me  up. 

And  made  a  man  of  me; 
So  now  I  fight  for  Uncle  Sam, 

So  please  excus-a  me." 


They   called   him   Wop,   but   learned    in   time. 

That  he  was  Tiiayi  clear  through; 
And  with  his  hands,  in  many  a  bout. 

He  taught  them  lessons,  too. 
When  he  had  won  he  stood  and  smiled; 

"I  Yankee  boy,"  said  he. 
Nobody  call-a  me  a  Wop, 

So  please  exeus-a  me.^ 


12 


We  charged  the  Germaus  on  the  run, 

We  gained  our  point,  and  then — 
Ten  thousand  fighting  devils  came 

Anr  fought  our  worn  out  men: 
The  bugle  sounded  the  recall, 

A   bullet   laid   me   low, 
I  looked  and  standing  by  my  side 

Was  smiling  newsboy  Joe. 


"Why  don't  you   go?     You   heard   the  calL' 
"You're  wounded,  sir,"  said  he, 

"I  guess  I  take-a  you  to  camp, 
So  please  excus-a  me." 

He  picked  me  up  and  started  out, 

Across  that  seething  hell; 
With  straining  lungs,  and  sobbing  breath, 

And  once,  he  stumbling,  fell. 
He  'rose  again  and  started  on; 

"I   cannot  help,"   said   he, 
"Be'(iuse-a  something   hit  my   breast ^ 

So  please  excus-a  me." 


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JoG  fainting  fell;   they  took  him  up 

With  gentle,  loving  care. 
Next  day,  in  cot  across  from  mine, 

I  saw  him  lying  there. 
He  met  my  glance,  his  pale  lips  smiled. 

"We  made  it,  sir,"  said  he, 
"My  wound,  he  got  your  clothes  all  blood, 

But  please  excus-a  me. 

For    weeks   the    fight   with    death    went   on. 

At   length   death  Tanquished,   fled; 
And  Joe,  a  haggard,  tottering  ghost. 

Out  in  the  air  was  led. 
Joe  soon  grew  strong,  and  I  was  well, 

And  then  the  war  was  o'er; 
Joe  cheered  the  loudest  of  us  all 

When  'rose  th«  Yankee  shore. 

"Shut  up,  you  wop,"  a  soldier  said, 

Joe  swinging  laid  him  low, 
The   man,   an  officer   of  rank. 

Struck  down  by  newsboy  Joe. 
"My  God,"  I  cried,  ''what  hiive  you  done?'^ 

"I  cannot  help,"  said  he, 
"That  fella  eall-a  me  a  wop, 

So  please   excus-a   me." 


I  told  this  officer  the  tale 

Of  what  our  Joe  had  done. 
He   smiled   and   answered,   ''Setid   him    here. 

The  nervy  san-of-a-gun:* 
Joe   came.     They   stood   there   face   to   face. 

The  Major  gave  a  sigh 
And  said,  "I  got  it  from  a  man. 

I'm  proud  of  that  black  eye." 

"You've  broken  rules,  but  I'm  the  blame. 

No   charges   will   I   bring; 
I  broke  them,  too,  in  calling  names. 

(You've  got  an  awful  swing.) 
You  did  just  right,  I  find  no  fault, 

Will  you  shake  hand^r  said  he. 
'7  will,  Vm  Yankee  same  as  you. 

So  please  excus-a  me.'* 

Now,  if  you're  walking  on  the  street. 

And  see  a  newsboy  there. 
If  I'm  around,  just  take  my  tip 

And  always  treat  him  fair. 
And  if  you  call  him  slurring  names, 

Take  my  advice  and  stop. 
Unless  you  want  to  figM  like  hell. 

Don't  call  that  hoy  a  wop. 


fi 


"MY  CHURCH^ 


Why  should  I  go  to  a  dismal  dwelling, 

Vv'here  a  cheerful  smile  must  never  strar, 
To  hear  of  the  tortures  that  God  gives  sinners. 

And  the  terrible  things  of  the  Judgment  Day? 
When  all  outside  is  God's  own  dwelling. 

He  needs  no  artist  to  paint  his  walls. 
Needs  no  mechanics  to  groin  his  arches, 

He  needs  no  tapestries  in  his  halls. 

He  needs  no  organ  to  peel  an  anthem. 

Nor  priest  nor  preacher  to  kneel  in  prayer, 
For  the  word  and  the  look,  and  the  act  of  kindness 

And  the  deed  of  Love  are  to  Him  more  fair. 
You  may  preach  of  your  book,  called  the  Holy  Bible, 

Your  Word  of  God,  your  book  divine, 
It  was  penned  in  the  tongue  of  a  foreign  people 

And  then  translated  into  mine. 


God  wrote  no  Greek  when  he  published  Xaturc. 

He  knew  no  "isms"  and  knew  no  creed, 
Tliis  Word  of  God  needs  no  translation. 

He  has  printed  it  plain,  that  all  may  read. 
For  in  every  field  where  flowers  are  blooming, 

Where  the  grass  is  green  and  the  sun  shines  bright 
When  the  thunders  crash  and  the  lightning  flashes, 

You  see  God's  beauty  and  strength  and  might. 


16 


-m 


When  you  have  broken  the  laws  of  Nature, 

You've  offended  God  in  his  holy  hall, 
And  you  pay  the  price  for  your  selseless  folly 

Nor  need  you  wait  for  the  trumpet  call. 
If  I  were  as  pure  as  a  spotless  virgin, 

Where  never  a  thought  of  vice  did  stray, 
And  went  to  Heaven  to  gain  admittance 

And  knew  not  Christ  I'd  be  turned  away. 

But  if  I  were  as  black  as  Satan  is  painted. 

And  had  steeped  myself  in  vice  and  sin, 
If  you  asked  me  the  price,  and  I  said  Christ  paid  it, 

I  could  kneel  in  prayer  and  Heaven  Vv-in. 
Is  this  the  creed  you  teach  your  children? 

Oh,  better  far  if  they  run  and  play, 
In  the  woods  and  fields  and  the  blessed  meadows, 

Where  they  meet  God  face  to  face  each  day. 

Not  the  terrible  God  you  preach  in  churches. 
The  God  of  venegance,  to  fear  and  dread, 

But  the  pure  and  holy  God  of  Nature, 

Who  gives  us  freely  our  daily  bread. 

So  I  refuse  to  accept  your  teachings, 

I'll  take  the  teachings  of  Nature's  plan, 

I'll  try  my  best,  as  far  as  I'm  able. 
To  do  my  duty  and  act  the  man. 


B 


■m 


I  need  no  organ  to  sing  God's  praises, 

Nor  priest  or  preacher  his  truth  to  tell, 
I'll  help  distress  where  e'er  I  find  it 

And  take  my  chances  on  Heaven  and  Hell. 
We  were  placed  on  earth  to  help  each  other, 

With  deeds  and  words  of  love  and  cheer, 
If  we  do  this,  as  Nature  tells  us, 

The  Hell  that  they  preach  we  need  not  fear. 

If  we  are  true  and  our  minds  untrammeled, 
By  forms  and  creeds  and  vicious  strife, 

We  may  live  our  days,  by  Nature  numbered. 
And  go  in  peace  to  eternal  life. 


!8 


Q- 


WHAT  MOSEE  SAID 


Hello!  Mose-  I  wish  you  would  tell  me 

How  you  felt  in  the  battle's  wild  roar, 
Of  brave  acts  of  heroes  around  you. 

With  men  going  down  by  the  score, 
"Well,  boss,  I  sure  caint  tell  you  nothin', 

Nothin'  'cept  when  we  went  back  to  rest. 
How  we  cussed  at  de  mud  and  de  cooties, 

I  remembers  dat  part  of  it  best." 

But,  Mose,  you  are  wearing  a  medal, 

You  must  have  been  brave  over  there, 
Of  the  charging,  and  fighting  and  rescue. 

You  must  have  done  all  of  your  share. 
"Well,  yes,  dats  what  all  the  folks  tell  me, 

I  done  did  some  t'lngs  over  dare, 
But  I  was  so  gol  hammered  busy, 

I  oain't  tell  wh<it  happened  or  where." 

Well,  tell  me  of  some  certain  battle, 

And  the  way  that  you  felt  in  the  fight; 
That  time  that  you  charged  on  the  trenches 

And  put  all  those  Germans  to  flight? 
"Dat  time,  well  de  Captain  done  tole  us, 

'Be  ready  to  charge  dem  at  ten,' 
We  went  over  de  top  In  a  body, 

I  don't  know  what  Hell  is  till  den." 


9- 


19 


"Now  /  know,  for  I'se  been  dere  and  troo  it, 

I'd  suah  hate  to  see  it  again, 
That  suah  was  the  place  of  damnation, 

And  God,  how  dey  mowed  down  the  men.** 
When  I  saw  men  go  down  all  aroun'  me, 

Heard  the  screamin'  of  shells  in  de  air. 
An'  knew  I  must  go  troo  it  fightin', 

I  was  scaled  from  my  toes  to  my  hair.''* 

But  they  tell  me  that  you  were  a  hero. 

And  cut  your  way  right  through  the  line, 
That  they  had  to  use  force  to  detain  you 

And  keep  you  from  crossing  the  Rhine. 
"Well,  boss!     I  guess  dat  dey  grabbed  me, 

And  made  me  come  back  from  de  fight. 
But  I  know  I  was  scaled,  man  I  tell  you, 

I  was  scaVd  till  I  almost  turned  ichite.'* 

"De  preachers  dey  tell  you  dat  Hell  is 

A  place  where  de  wicked  folks  go. 
Dat  isnt  no  Hell,  I  know  better, 

I  just  come  from  dare  and  I  know. 
Yes,  sah.  Hell!     DaVs  a  place  full  of  Gerrmins, 

A?id  gas,  liquid  fire  and  shell. 
And  'bullets,  and  bombs  and  explosions, 

And  dead  men  in  pieces,  dat^s  Hell.'* 


-bl 


B- 


■m 


"In  de  fight  I  saw  an  explosion, 

My  bunkie  went  up  in  de  air, 
Dats  de  last  dat  I  saw  of  my  bunkie, 

Because  dere  was  none  ob  him  dere. 
Dat's  when  I  got  mad  in  dat  battle, 

And  something  went  wrong  in  my  haid, 
And  den  when  de  fight  was  all  ober 

Twenty  Germans  was  laying  dere  daid." 

"Me  kill  'em?    Huh-uh,  /  didn't  kill  'em. 

Dey  killed  their  fool  selves  every  one, 
Dey  got  kinda  foolish  and  reckless, 

A?id  run  right  up  onto  my  gun. 
Me  afraid?    No,  sah,  dat  ain't  de  feelin', 

I'se  'fraid  when  I  goes  out  at  night. 
And  has  to  go  home  by  de  grabeyard, 

When  I'se  sca'ed,  mistah,  dafs  when  I  fight." 

'I  want  to  kill  dem  darn  Germans, 

I  wanted  to  get  dat  fight  done, 
I  was  saving  dis  boy  for  his  mammy, 

I  knew  dat  she  loved  her  black  son. 
Would  I  go  back  to  war  if  I'se  needed? 

I'd  rather  stay  just  where  I  am. 
You  mean,  tcould  I  go?    Don't  ask  Mosee, 

Gojcan  dere.  ou  ask  Uncle  Sam." 


21 


-B 


THE  SOCIAL  GLASS 


This  curse  of  the  world  is  kuown  to  ail, 
And  this  is  one  reason  the  people  fall — 

From  the  heights  of  grace  to  the  depths  of  sin, 
Why  virtue  is  lost  and  vice  gets  in. 
The  worm  of  the  still  with  it's  breath  of  flame — 
At  it's  door,  my  friend,  you  may  lay  the  blame. 

Ycu  will  see  a  girl  who  is  led  with  care, 

Past  the  gates  of  sin  with  it's  deep  dispair, 
Past  lust  and  vice  and  to  virtue  true, 

She  is  taught  great  things  in  this  world  to  do. 
You  see  her  stumble  and  see  her  fall, 

Till  her  name  is  scorned  by  one  and  all. 
But  for  poverty's  curse  or  the  social   glass, 

The  thing  would  never  have  come  to  pass. 

You  will  see  a  mother  bring  up  a  son, 

And  watch  his  youthful  frolic  and  fun. 
She  gazes  with  pride  and  a  mother's  joy, 

On  her  honest,  manly,   upright  boy. 
Then  the  snare  is  set  and  he  enters  in — 

Through  the  gates  of  vice  to  the  home  of  sin     * 
And  poverty's  curse,  or  the  social  glass. 

You  may  blame,  or  it  never  had  come  to  pass. 


■^ 


-aa 


You  will  see  a  man  who  is  noble  and  great, 

Who  is  honored  by  the  church  and  state, 
Or'  the  people's  love  he  has  made  a  throne — 

He  stands  above  them,  grand,  alone. 
You  see  him  from  his  pedestal  fall, 

And  the  sweets  of  life  turn  bitter  as  gall, 
The  social  glass  with  it's  breath  of  flame, 

At  its  door,  my  friends,  you  may  lay  the  blame. 

Ob,  Morhf  r!     Why  do  you  weep  and  moan? 

Oh,  Father!     Why  do  you  sigh  and  groan? 
For  a  daughter  fallen?    Or  one  that's  gone? 

Tis  the  social  glass  that  has  led  them  on. 
The  cheering  smile  of  a  seeming  friend. 

The  social  glass,  then  this  awful  end. 
But  with  poverty's  curse,  and  the  social  glass. 

Such  things  eternally  come  to  pass. 


S- 


WHAT  JESUS  TAUGHT  ME 


You  preach  of  a  Christ  who  died  on  the  tree, 
To  save  such  sinners  as  you  and  me. 

Reviled  and  tortured  and  laid  in  the  grave, 
All  this  and  more,  the  world  to  save. 

You  forgot  his  teachings  and  worship  the  man; 
He  taught  and  preached  a  dffierent  plan. 

He  said  not,  worship  Me  when  I'm  dead, 

"But  feed  my  lambs"  is  what  he  said. 
"Heal  the  sick,  and  the  fallen  raise, 

Love  one  another,  the  Father  praise, 
Call  no  man  'master,'  for  brothers  are  ye, 

Know  the  truth,  it  will  make  you  free." 
For  Christ  was  a  man  like  you  and  I, 

Suffered  the  torture  and  had  to  die, 
For  a  new  idea  that  he  proclaimed, 

His  soul  was  tortured.  His  body  maimed. 
Scorned  and  abused  by  the  rich  and  great. 

Eternally  teaching,  early  and  late. 
But  at  last  he  was  taken  and  crucified. 

And  there  at  the  close  of  day  he  died, 
Killed  because  he  to  the  temple  went, 

And  the  booths  of  the  money  changers  rent, 
The  seats  of  the  sellers  of  doves  tore  down 


24 


-9 


^ 


s 


And  scourged  them  into  the  streets  of  tov.  n. 
He  taught  that  the  change  for  good  must  come 

From  within  yourself,  that  no  animal  dumb 
Could  be  sacrificed  to  pay  the  price 

Of  acts  of  folly  and  sin  and  vice. 
Repent  and  pray  if  you'd  Heaven  win, 

The  shedding  of  blood  pays  not  for  sin. 
And  ye  who  seek  the  Kingdom  of  God, 

It  is  easy  to  find,  remember  this. 
That  the  teacher  said,  "Not  beyond  the  skies. 
The  Kingdom  of  God  within  you  lies. 


a- 


WITHOUT  WARDING 


It  will  come  to  us  some  day, 
We  can  fight  it  as  we  may, 
But  it  will  not  stay  away. 

Noon  nor  night  or  morning. 
V/ith  its  eyes  so  bright  and  true 
And  the  love-light  shining  through. 
Shines  on  me,  or  else  on  you; 

Love  comes  without  warning. 

We  can  hide  ourselves  away 
From  the  light  of  God's  bright  day 
We  may  laugh  or  mourn  or  pray 

From  the  night  till  morning; 
But  true  love  will  find  us  out. 
Greet  us  with  a  merry  shout. 
And  our  miseries  it  will  rout; 

J.ove   <cir.es    without   v.arning. 


20 


•lij 


■9 


THE  SWEDE  YANKEE 


Aye    bane    born    one    tim    in    Swaden, 
Life  dare  lal  aye  was  a  man, 
Den  aye  cam  to  States  Unitad, 
Wid  das  laws  a  different  plan, 

Wark  som  yar  in  Minnesota, 
Den  aye  com  to  Puget  Sound, 

Save  das  money  aye  mak  working, 
Bay  a  little  piece  of  ground. 

War  declared,  mae  boy  inlisted. 
Girl  she  yoin  das  Red  Cross,  too, 

Aye  go  doun  an  yoin  das  home-gard, 
Aye  bane  Yankee  same  as  you. 

Aye  bay  bons  an  aye  bay  trift  stamp, 
Play  des  Yankee  poker  game. 

Call  mae  roondhad,  call  mae  squarliad, 
Aye  bane  Yankee  yust  the  same. 


Aye  no  more  go  back  to  Swaden, 
Kingdom  aye  don't  lak  to  sae, 

Land  of  laughing  fighting  Yankee, 
Sha  bane  good  enough  for  mae. 


HEROES 


Two  babies  were  born  to  mothers  fair, 

And  grew  up  side  by  side, 
Not  good,  not  bad — but  just  all  boy, 

To  love  and  train  and  guide. 
They  were  taught  the  glory  of  doing  good 

And  the  love  of  home  and  land. 
This  great  republic  to  them  was  all, 

They  obeyed  it's  least  command. 

When  war  broke  out,  both  volunteered. 

And  Jimmie  was  sent  to  France, 
But  Jack — they  told  him  his  feet  were  fiat. 

To  go  he  had  no  chance. 
So  Jimmie  was  put  in  a  uniform, 

And  sent  to  the  war's  wild  hell. 
And  Jack  went  to  work  in  the  powder  plant. 

And  both  did  their  work  quite  well. 


And  Jimmie  was  buried  in  far  off  lands, 

He  died  in  doing  his  best, 
He  died  in  saving  his  "bunkie's"  life. 

And  now  in  peace  doth  rest, 
And  Jack — Jack  died  in  the  powder  plant, 

A  worker  had  slipped  and  fell. 
And  Jack,  in  saving  his  comrade's  life, 

I  oirt  his  in  that  liquid  hell. 


28 


B- 


Now  all  that  died  on  the  battle  front 

Are  heroes  and  great  and  good, 
We  praise  the  wonderful  things  they  did. 

And  I  know  it's  right,  we  should. 
But  come,  wake  up,  take  off  youh  hats 

To  all  who  did  their  best, 
For  the  one  who  was  killed  in  making  a  shell 

Is  a  hero  like  all  the  rest. 

The  ones  who  died  to  furnish  supplies 

And  feed  the  whole  uorld.  too. 
Are  heroes  great  as  any  who  died 

Across  the  ocean  blue. 
But  boys,  let  us  care  for  the  living  today, 

They  need  it,  when  all  is  said, 
Let  us  do  our  part  to  bring  one  more  smile. 

GOD  WILL  TAKE  CARE  OF  THE  DEAD. 


29 


^'^ 

X'mlA^ 

^ 

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i».-''S/^ 

7^ 

* 

GB- 


-m 


MEMORIES 


I  had  a  bonny,  loving  lad, 

A  rugged,  fearless,  honest  boy; 

He'd  fight  or  play — 'twas  all  the  same — 
So  full  of  life  and  vim  and  joy. 

I  saw  him  at  the  hour  of  noon, 
I  went  to  work,  and  he  to  play, 

I  sat  beside  his  deathbed  there, 

That  night,  he  died  before  the  day. 

And  now  I  mourn,  for  well  I  loved 
My  bonny  lad,  so  good  and  fair, 

I've  other  lads,  I  love  them  well — 
But  none  can  fill  his  vacant  chair. 

He  smiled  and  said,  "Good  bye"  and  died, 
I  sobbed  in  misery  and  in  pain, 

'Tis  only  just  in  dreams  of  sleep, 
I  see  ray  bonny  boy  again. 


3:( 


s- 


-a 


Again  I  see  his  smiling  face. 

And  hear  him  shout  his  loud  Halloo! 
Again  I  see  his  merry  glance, 

Jlis  eyes  with  love-light  shining  through. 


My  curse  upon  the  hand  of  he — 

Who  sped  the  shot  and  laid  him  low, 

My  God!     Oh,  why  should  such  things  be? 
My  bonny  lad,  I  loved  him  so. 


I  loved  too  well,  and  so  my  grief 
For  him  will  live  'till  life  is  o'er; 

But  this  I  know,  his  "Hello,  dad!" 
Will  greet  me  on  the  other  shore. 


i 


31 


GAYLAMOUNT 

PAMPHLET  BINDER 


Manufactured  by 

6AYLORD  BROS.  Inc. 

Syracuse,  N.  Y. 

Stockton,  Calif. 


